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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660795">A Matter of Perspective</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozarteffect/pseuds/mozarteffect'>mozarteffect</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Never Meant To) Fall in Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Ball</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Budding Relationship, Drawing, F/M, Kind of a melancholy little piece tbh, Mild Angst, Mutual Admiration, Oblivious Yearning, Set in the 3 Year Gap but not about it, Vegeta (Dragon Ball) vs Feelings, because vegeta won't allow himself to have nice things, but mostly budding friendship right now, kiiiind of a crush going on on vegeta's part though, that's not a tag yet but I am making it one, this also has a lot of introspection and not very much dialog sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:21:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozarteffect/pseuds/mozarteffect</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(Set in the continuity of Goodnight Badman but can also stand alone)</p><p>Vegeta, staying at Capsule Corp. for some time now, is fairly sure he's got everything figured out. When he comes across something of Bulma's in her lab, he doesn't realize that he's going to find out not everything was as he thought regarding feelings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bulma Briefs &amp; Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Never Meant To) Fall in Love [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669549</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've had this idea/headcanon for a while (although I can prove it with canon panels, etc) that Bulma draws. I also wanted to do something Vegebul + something for Goodnight Badman but not...entirely too taxing on the brain, do you know what I mean?</p><p>It still ended up way more complicated and less funny than I wanted it to be? Damn.</p><p>Anyway, if you're expecting the drawings to be lewd then sorry they're not, also while this is set in the universe of my other fic Goodnight Badman you don't have to read it to know what's going on.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were quite a few things Vegeta had grown accustomed to in his time on Earth, freshly made food of a staggering variety was the first thing. Being able to sleep whenever and however long he wanted in something that wasn't the ground, a stasis pod, or a military grade cot was another. He blustered about it to whoever would pay him any mind that such luxuries made people soft and weak, clearly the reason why Earthlings were so weak, but secretly he enjoyed it. What he didn't enjoy, besides the overhanging knowledge that he owed these strangers a debt, was the Briefs themselves.</p><p>Well, that wasn't true, he simply didn't know what to make of them and their unrelenting <em>kindness</em>. The seasons on Earth, though they also confused him, made more sense than the Briefs.</p><p>Mrs. Briefs—called Panchy, though her <em>favorite</em> boys as she said called her Bunny—was a <em>master</em> cook and loved doing it despite the family being rich and not <em>needing</em> to cook for themselves. (It didn't matter to Vegeta in the end as he enjoyed eating her creations). Despite the constant feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that there was something <em>more</em> to her keen gaze whilst she chattered nonsense to him, <em>something</em> to how casual she was, almost <em>pretending</em> to be oblivious to his background, she didn't actually scare him. More perplexed and slightly unsettled him with the nagging feeling that there <em>was</em> something more to her than simple ditziness and flirtation.</p><p>Her husband, at least, was more straightforward yet confused Vegeta in a different way. Dr. Briefs—whose name <em>also</em> happened to be Briefs yet due to what he called a "clerical error" his family name in addition to first became Briefs—was the definition of non-threatening. But the thing was, he <em>shouldn't</em> have been—at least he shouldn't have been for what Vegeta had experienced and understood for people in Briefs' position. He was extremely powerful and rich, obviously well respected by other Earthlings, hell even the actual King of the Earth frequently contacted Briefs and spoke with him on friendly terms. He was practically nobility! Yet he was so…<em>kind</em>. He kept and brought home stray animals for fuck's sake, he couldn't be <em>real</em>.</p><p>Their daughter made the most sense to him, even while she confused Vegeta in many other ways. Bulma was not a fighter in any stretch, though he did know that part of her routine was self-defense classes at the gym, and while she <em>did</em> have the same generosity as her parents she was…different. There was a ruthlessness to her, a cunning mind just under the surface. It was <em>quite</em> apparent that none of Earth's fighters had any leadership qualities (besides automatically deferring to Kakarot's decisions, the idiots) or enough intelligence to power a lightbulb, yet <em>she </em>did.</p><p>Vegeta remembered that while the so-called warriors (and even he despite not wanting to admit it) were anticipating Frieza's arrival with anxiety, <em>she</em> was ready to face her doom head-on. <em>She</em> came up with the practical and delightfully vicious plan of killing Gero before anything happened with the androids. Both actions he had to admit respect for in his own way, though the latter he was the first to shoot down since he wanted to fight.</p><p>The woman had screamed at him that this wasn't a game and such selfish actions were going to get people killed, she had told all of them that afterward as he had heard. Their reaction to being called out didn't matter to him, what mattered was that Bulma had <em>no</em> qualms about standing up to him, frequently engaging in arguments with him which only entrenched Vegeta's bizarre respect for her. He didn't want to admit how much it ignited his blood in a way that had been lacking for quite some time. Something he had never felt, actually, no one had exchanged barbs with as much vigor and lack of fear as she. Such courage and show of guts brought to mind his fellow Saiyans deep down in his instincts (not that he would speak such a ludicrous thing aloud).</p><p>Contradicting any of that, Bulma's proclivity towards being so frivolous irritated him, her boasting, her arguments with her empty-headed pretty-boy paramour, it <em>all</em> grinded on his nerves. Her insistence on showing <em>concern</em> was maddening too, like she <em>cared</em>, which she couldn't have when in the next breath she would call him a stubborn asshole. (From what he understood humans generally didn't show their care by swearing at people, perhaps.)</p><p>Bulma Briefs, in general, took up too much space in his head. Right now on the frigid morning of he-didn't-know-or-care-what-month, Vegeta wanted to banish any thoughts of her <em>except</em> for the fact that she was being <em>very</em> slow about delivering on his request (demand) for a new uniform and armor set. Bulma had <em>insisted</em> she could make it so much better and yet she was dragging her feet with—</p><p>"Oh, good mornin', darling!" Panchy's cheerful chirp broke him out of his thoughts.</p><p>Dammit, while Vegeta was distracted with breakfast, Bulma had breezed in to get coffee and a piece of toast.</p><p>"Morning, Mom," she spoke between sips, either not noticing or ignoring that Vegeta was there.</p><p>Her lack of acknowledgement didn't bother him, he preferred not talking most of the time and she <em>at least</em> had the sense to respect that even through her attempts at "getting to know him."</p><p>Her not speaking to him, however, did allow him to observe that she was wearing her lab coat—good, that meant she was working in her lab. No, wait, he thought with a double take, not recognizing that he had dropped his bite of food with his jaw dropping open. <em>Thankfully</em> neither of the Briefs women noticed before he scrambled to compose himself, taking a breath, drinking his water.</p><p>Bulma had her lab coat on, but she was <em>not</em> dressed for lab work, he realized, not with the black pencil skirt stretched tightly over her thighs and the pink blouse with the barest hint of cleavage showing (significant and unusual for someone so proud of her body). He tried to tear his focus off but realized his gaze was trailing up to her face, turned away from him she didn't notice. Vegeta despised the color pink, but never seemed to mind it on her, the simple makeup she wore—indicating that she was going out—was complemented by the blouse nicely and her hair was tied up in a bun. His eyes, nearly against his own will, flicked down again to see she was wearing those black heels that he had <em>no</em> clue how she was able to walk in (but made her legs look very nice, he had to admit). She was doing something business-related today as opposed to "going out with friends" as she called it. Probably to dominate the corporate peons at the main offices, something he was learning was also part of her routine since Briefs didn't usually leave the house.</p><p>Sometimes Vegeta wished he had an excuse to demand she bring him along because he <em>very</em> much wanted to see her asserting her authority over the old fools. It would surely be entertaining, and the image of her looking like <em>that</em> with her eyes flashing, tapping her foot while glaring murder at someone, was more appealing than it had any right to be.</p><p>"—Anyway, Vegeta," her voice brought him out of his abnormal musings.</p><p>Vegeta, not missing a beat, raised his head to meet her eyes. If she noticed him staring, Bulma didn't comment on it, only delicately brushed some crumbs off her lapels and gave him a small smile. "I'll be home by the time you're done training—" She knew his routine just as well as he knew hers, something that should have bothered him but didn't—"So stop by the lab." Bulma threw a wink over her shoulder as she turned. "I've got a gift for you~"</p><p>He gave a short, quiet laugh in his throat despite himself, looking away to refocus on his breakfast. He pushed the inexplicable surprise he had felt at her appearance out of his mind and pretended it hadn't happened. Outward traits were nothing special, after all, he had never been one to note down anybody's in his time (besides prissy so-called warriors that fussed over their looks instead of training).</p><p>"Oh, my Bulma," Mrs. Briefs tutted to herself, "All work and no play."</p><p>Vegeta ignored her, as usual, anticipating in a small way what Bulma had dreamed up this time. He would give her some credit, in addition to her guts Bulma was brilliant and passionate about her work, everything she had created for him was valuable. While she did become a little dismayed by his training inevitably damaging whatever it was (and he by having to <em>ask</em> her to fix it, only adding to his debt, not to mention wasting time by having to halt his training to get equipment fixed) she only became more determined to improve it. Despite him never asking her to (as he much rather would not) she frequently grew dissatisfied and insisted on upgrading even if he was being careful about being rougher on <em>himself</em> instead of the equipment. Though Vegeta disliked the added debt immensely (he refused to believe while knowing how kind the family were that there was <em>no</em> price for their kindness) he didn't try to start arguments about it or yell (at least not on purpose to make her mad like he would for their other moments of repartee).</p><p><em>"I'll do the upgrades while you're asleep, I promise,"</em> she swore to him. <em>"You won't even notice—well, except when they start kicking your ass," </em>she finished with a cheeky grin.</p><p><em>"I'd like to see you try,"</em> he had replied with a smirk. <em>"Although I am curious why you have such doubt in your own craft if you insist on continually </em>working<em> on equipment that's fine as it is."</em></p><p><em>"I don't doubt it," </em>Bulma retorted with a click of her tongue. <em>"Try to look at it like your training, you're trying to improve yourself for your greatest opponent? Well, so am I, but my opponent is </em>myself<em>."</em></p><p>What else could he do but respect that? Bulma Briefs was formidable indeed, it was only fortunate that she had never deigned to be a warrior (or wasn't born a Saiyan) otherwise he would have been in even deeper trouble.</p><p>Vegeta pushed it out of his mind for the rest of the day while he trained. He turned the level up as high as it would go for the training bots and focused on what really mattered: <em>Super Saiyan</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bulma was not there when he had finished training (still not ascending…) and cleaning up (she always complained that he stunk whenever he would come in directly post training). Vegeta tried to tamp down his annoyance at her being late, leaning his shoulder against the wall, tapping his fingers against his bicep. He idly cast his gaze along the other walls, bookshelves with texts that both contained Bulma's notes and other complicated science books.</p><p>It was the only neat thing in the lab. The rest of it was a mess of scattered ramen cups and papers. He lifted his foot to allow the cleaning bot that dutifully picked up after the careless woman to go by as he looked over at her desk.</p><p>The desk was also a mess, papers all shuffled together containing Bulma's mess of shorthand, some of her diagrams drawn by hand, different pens and pencils, measuring instruments.</p><p>His eyes stopped on an open book.</p><p>Oh, he thought, stepping over to get a closer look, this was her sketchbook. He had seen it once before, but hadn't looked inside of course, since he didn't care and it was none of his business. Right now it was opened on an impressively detailed draft of a new spaceship—how her lines could be so neat and straight while her handwriting looked like a child's scribbles he would never understand.</p><p>It wasn't his business, Vegeta told himself, and he didn't care about what was in the book. But if the woman was going to disrespect him by being late (or perhaps even forgetting, an even bigger show of lacking respect) he would find <em>something</em> to occupy his time. He flipped the page over and found drafts of designs for armor and found himself perking up in interest—so she <em>had</em> been working on it, she had just been doing that thing where she worked in secret. He flipped to another page and saw, much to his surprise, that she had been doing drawings of people.</p><p>Vegeta turned his head slightly to the side to get a better look at the sketches, noting that they were very lifelike, alarmingly so, almost like a photo. It looked to be people out and about in West City.</p><p>He turned the page, recognizing Yamcha immediately, though his back was turned in the drawing. Dark, thick lines that pressed into the paper gave him an uncomfortable feeling of anger and loneliness, he observed that there were other people, faceless and female-shaped all crowded around Yamcha's front. Vegeta turned the page again feeling his lip curl up in revulsion—why did she tolerate that impertinence? It didn't make any sense.</p><p>Speaking of annoying things, Kakarot was on the next. He had a guilty smile on his face for one image as he was being scolded by his wife, who seemed sincerely <em>angry</em> this time. The next image his expression was serious, almost pensive. The third he had bent down and kissed his wife on the top of her head, which Vegeta rolled his eyes at. The next couple of pages featured the wife—Chi-Chi if he recalled correctly—in a flattering way, he was surprised to see that Bulma had drawn her doing katas with emphasis on her expression of concentration. He could almost see the sheen of sweat on her,  almost thought the image would start moving.</p><p>How did she find the time to do all of this, he wondered, flipping through the rest of the pages and noticing again that he could read certain emotions off of the compositions. Bulma must have been treating it partly like a picture diary, making him somewhat uneasy that he was looking through it without her permission. (He told himself again, why should he respect her when she wasn't showing respect to him?)</p><p>He froze.</p><p>Vegeta felt like he was looking in a mirror suddenly.</p><p>His own face with a stormy expression was looking back at him.</p><p>His eyes darted along the pages, trying to take all of it in—it was…it was <em>him</em>. She had drawn <em>him</em>. He hadn't even known she was paying him any sort of mind like that to do these drawings! There were expressions of anger, of course, the cockiness, even some of him training, that was all familiar to him, but oddly he didn't detect distaste or fear. Vegeta paused, looking at a drawing of himself sitting on his own balcony, staring off into the horizon.</p><p>
  <em>Why did she draw me looking like some lonely and pathetic fool?</em>
</p><p>He wanted to be offended at that but the embarrassment and…strange feeling of flattery(?) that there were even <em>more</em> drawings of him than that overrode it.</p><p>Vegeta saw his hands were trembling. <em>I should stop looking</em>, he told himself.</p><p>
  <em>…Well. Maybe one more page.</em>
</p><p>It was him, yet he was…disappointed that it was a detached turnaround of him in an armor set that Bulma had designed.</p><p>"Hm," Vegeta mumbled, turning back through the pages inexplicably. There were drawings of her friends and what she felt towards them along with it, there were her diagrams for inventions, there was him with…he didn't know what, respect? Admiration? Considering <em>what</em> the drawings conveyed left him feeling lightheaded and warm.</p><p>But there were none of her.</p><p>Why? With how often she boasted about how she was the most beautiful woman on Earth, he would have figured there would be at least <em>one</em> self-portrait in there, but there wasn't. Hell, there was more of <em>him</em> in the damn thing than anything of herself besides what the presses, lines, and strokes conveyed for what she was thinking.</p><p>He paused again on a drawing of himself stretching. He should have felt annoyed like she was objectifying him (after all, she occasionally flirted with him, even <em>he</em> wasn't oblivious to that). But…he looked powerful, proud, confident, very determined—was that…how she saw him? Was all of it how she saw him?</p><p>Vegeta realized to his horror that his cheeks were burning and heart was pounding. He shut the book with a snap when he heard the clicking of Bulma's heels hurrying down the stairs, automatically turning to be sure she didn't trip and fall (the gods only knew he didn't understand how she could move in those things).</p><p>"Sorry!" she was saying to him, digging into her coat pockets to pull out a capsule. "I'm sorry I'm late, Vegeta, the meeting went on <em>way</em> longer than I thought." She continued to babble about what happened during the time she was gone, opening the capsule to reveal a case and opening <em>that</em> up to pull out some items of clothing. "—I swear I wanted to drive my heel into that salty old prune's balls for how long he whined over stupid shit like—"</p><p>"—I would have been mad if you did that and I didn't get to see it," he blurted out, wanting to push all thoughts of the sketchbook out of his head.</p><p>Bulma paused, pressing her lips together into a thin line, the pink of her lip gloss disappearing. "Huh? You wanted to go with me?"</p><p>The two stared at each other, realizing they were now at an awkward impasse.</p><p>Luckily, Bulma decided to brush it off (maybe assumed it was just something weird Vegeta said and nothing more) with a shrug, neatly folding and presenting him with—as he expected—the new armor set. "Sorry that it took me so long," she breathed, cheeks flushed with the exertion of her day and rushing down to meet with him. "I had to make sure it was <em>perfect</em>."</p><p>Vegeta had a habit of ignoring how other people felt. It was precisely because he was an asshole and not interested in what sort of rubbish went through peoples' minds.</p><p>He could not miss (or ignore) that he had been foolish and misinterpreted all of Bulma's actions as disrespect. Actually, she seemed to hold him in <em>very</em> high regard and he didn't know what to make of that. He swallowed hard against his dry throat, taking the pieces into his own hands, wanting to look away from her but finding he couldn't. The proud Saiyan prince <em>could</em>, at least, will himself to stop trembling and blushing like a hormonal teenage boy around his first crush.</p><p>Now, what to even say to all of that?</p><p>"This…will do," he managed at last, turning on his heel to leave the lab and all of the awkwardness behind.</p><p>He balked when he heard a puff of a sigh coming from her—exhaustion, maybe disappointed but unsurprised that he didn't say anything else.</p><p><em>What now?</em> Vegeta thought. What did people usually do in these sorts of situations? Nothing a Saiyan would do, surely?</p><p>He was two steps up before he looked over his shoulder at her. "Bulma," he rasped, trying to will himself to not squeak.</p><p>"Yeah?" she responded, looking up from her place at her desk.</p><p>"…Thank you."</p><p>Her eyebrows shot up, he turned around immediately to move up the stairs and not embarrass himself further.</p><p>Something stopped him <em>again</em>, he cursed himself, grinding his teeth together and turning around once more. "You know!" he spat out a bit more forcefully than intended, cringing internally when Bulma jumped. "…They're…um, they're…not bad. Your drawings."</p><p>Bulma stared up at him, eyebrows turned down and frowning deeply. "What…did you say?" she asked.</p><p>"I won't repeat myself!" he snarled back shutting the door to the lab a little more forcefully than intended, breaking at least one of the hinges.</p><p><em>Never mind it she can deal with it herself!</em> Vegeta thought, practically flying to his room and slamming the door shut behind him, diving into his bed to shove his face deep into his pillows as if that would drown his humiliation. It was no use, he realized, he could see that open sketchbook of all the images Bulma had created from her skilled hands and earnest heart. His own heart pounded even more rapidly at the thought she viewed him as something like art.</p><p><em>What the hell is wrong with me?</em> he groaned to himself, turning over in his bed but still planting his pillow over his face. <em>What is </em>wrong<em> with me!? </em></p><p>The armor he had demanded from her and sneered to himself that she was "dragging her feet on" lay forgotten on the floor while he rolled around trying to work off his own restless energy. His mind cycled rapidly through different things, finally settling on the last drawing of him in Bulma's sketchbook. In his thoughts, Vegeta erased the other images until only one of him remained. Then, gradually, graceful lines formed and shaped an image of Bulma standing next to him, looking upon him with that genuine smile of affection.</p><p>The image comforted him. Brought things into perspective, made him realize that there <em>wasn't</em> a price to the Briefs' kindness, despite that being the rule of the merciless universe he grew up in. There was only kindness and warmth with this family. Quiet respect, admiration…caring. So much caring.</p><p><em>This is a hindrance,</em> his dark thoughts clouded over the gentle image, obscuring any of his own sentimental emotions and turning them back to the callous person he knew himself to be. <em>I cannot allow this to go any further.</em></p><p>Deep down in the darkness of his cynical mind, a small spark nurtured itself, gently swaying with the thoughts of a person who treated him as someone to admire and that he admired back, lulling him into sleep with dreams of blue eyes and a soft smile despite the maelstrom of turmoil with him.</p><p>
  <em>It isn't…actually like that. She isn't as bad as I've thought after all…</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry you're probably seeing this over and over again cause I keep making updates to try and cut out redundancy and awkward inconsistent wording okay anyway thanks for reading!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vegeta goes back to Bulma's lab despite telling himself he shouldn't.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay I wanted to make an itty bitty continuation of this, anything else from here on out is going into Goodnight Badman, all right!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually, with a great amount of reminding himself that he needed to get a grip, Vegeta left his room to get something to eat. Every step he had to push a new thought out of his head and replace it.</p><p>
  <em>I want to check on the woman.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, you don't. She can take care of herself and you would be intruding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should talk to her more often.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't be a fool, that would be a mistake. She might get the wrong idea and believe you care.</em>
</p><p><em>…I…</em>don't<em> care.</em></p><p>
  <em>Correct. You don't.</em>
</p><p>Caring wasn't something Vegeta was experienced with—and he still couldn't imagine Bulma caring about him. They might have mutual respect (though he wouldn't openly show it on his end)—no, actually, they <em>did</em>, not <em>might</em>. He respected her quite a lot, tried to convince himself she didn't (just like he tried to convince himself she must have been afraid of him)—turned out to be wrong.</p><p>He was usually wrong when it came to the Briefs.</p><p>Vegeta came to a halt at the top of the stairs when he realized he was forgetting something and turned back to his room. He felt—it had happened to him a couple of times in his life—detached from his own body as it mindlessly pulled on the suit and armor Bulma made for him. It was a sleek design, lacking the shoulder guards of his older armor but without the antiquity of the armor he was stuck with on Namek. She must have been able to visualize from verbal description better than he realized as it was similar to a style some Saiyans used back on the planet.</p><p>Perfect fit.</p><p>Completely his own.</p><p>That was another thing Vegeta was forced to acknowledge, the Briefs <em>gave</em> him so much, he had never <em>had</em> so much before. His own room, his own clothes, his own pick of how he wanted to furnish, where he went, what he did. All given to him with no expectation, though his inclination to abhor being a leech and not repaying his debts kept trying to insist otherwise. He was free to do whatever he wanted, despite misgivings that it really couldn't be <em>that</em> simple.</p><p>He was dwelling too much on it. He needed to…</p><p>What? What did he want to do?</p><p>Oh, right, food.</p><p>Then why was Vegeta automatically turning to a familiar (but very weak) ki signature instead upon noticing it <em>wasn't</em> in the dining room like he would expect at this time? Why was he walking down into her lab <em>again</em> to see her? He rationalized to himself it was to show her that the armor indeed fit and give her a moment to boast about what a perfect job she did, as <em>usual</em>.</p><p>Then why was he surprised (and a little dismayed) to see she wasn't paying attention to his arrival but instead appeared to be almost nodding off while a…strange cup that had steam coming off of it stewed nearby? Her hair had loosened from the bun, her posture was stooped, she looked exhausted and if he were totally honest with himself (which he never was) the whole image concerned him.</p><p>
  <em>Scratch scratch scratch.</em>
</p><p>The noise alerted him—pencil scratching on paper. Bulma was drawing again? An unfamiliar leap of <em>giddiness</em> in his stomach told him he wanted to see right away what it was but couldn't quite over her almost protective lean over the pad.</p><p>Eventually, Bulma realized there was another presence in the lab and looked up at him with tired eyes. She smiled, albeit faintly, and hummed. "Hey…it looks good on you. Does it feel all right?"</p><p>"It feels fine," Vegeta tersely replied, pulling on one of the gloves to straighten it out and for emphasis. He didn't know how to feel about her saying it <em>looked good on him</em>.</p><p>Bulma mumbled something incomprehensible again, eyes sliding away from his intense gaze over to the steaming cup. She nodded to it. "You're probably hungry, have some, I can make another."</p><p>Damn her for immediately shooting down any protests he would have had about outright taking her food. He looked around for a second, finding another chair to drag over and sit next to Bulma at her desk, surreptitiously trying to see what she was drawing at the same time he was reaching to take the cup. "How do I…? What <em>is</em> this?" he couldn't help asking first, gesturing to the cup.</p><p>She laughed, a pleasant sound that seemed to make her cheeks flush and eyes twinkle, almost made him want to smile himself as insane as that sounded. Bulma reached into her drawer for a packet of something, opening it up and splitting apart two wooden sticks to present to him. "Just open the lid and dig in."</p><p>Oh, he knew what those were, chopsticks. Nonetheless, his grip as he took them was conscientious, knowing that the utensils were usually frail under his strength. "That still doesn't explain what it is," he grumbled, noticing that there was a savory smell that he recognized as chicken. Oh, again, he peeled back the lid and saw they were noodles. Was <em>this</em> what Bulma sustained herself on when she pulled long hours like this? He considered the meal dubiously—surely it wasn't enough? Not enough for him, of course, but for her?</p><p>"Hang on—" Bulma took the cup and turned away, he could hear the clinking of something, the sound of the fridge opening, more shuffling. He raised an eyebrow at what in the hell she could possibly be doing until she turned back, presenting him with a bowl of the steaming noodles but with…other stuff?</p><p>"What's this?" he asked, taking the bowl regardless of the question and giving it a sniff.</p><p>She smiled mischievously, indicating a mini capsule fridge next to her desk. "I keep extra ingredients to put in here if I'm feeling fancy. I'm no <em>master</em> like Mom, of course, but I know some things!"</p><p>He knew that already, the first time she had barbecued meat for him was an experience he wasn't going to forget any time soon. Just because she never went as elaborate or did it as often as her mother shouldn't have meant anything, should it? It looked like she added an egg to the broth and noodles as well as some green onions. She really didn't need to do that just for him, did she?</p><p>But she did, she just did that without question. Now she was making another cup for herself after casually sharing her first one with him.</p><p>Tamping down uncomfortable feelings that he was imposing (of course he wasn't, he was the prince of all Saiyans, dammit!) Vegeta took a tentative bite of the noodles.</p><p>Once again, he was taken aback at how <em>flavorful</em> Earth food was. The grilled meat with "barbecue sauce" added, Panchy's pulled pork, this simple bowl of noodles—it was all too much. A shudder passed through him, the thought of how good it was passing through his head and almost forcing its way out of his mouth. Bulma noticed neither of these things as she serenely made her own food. She was so calm in his presence, it was baffling.</p><p>"It's not terrible," he mumbled.</p><p>She giggled, offering him a playful grin while she worked. "Thanks~ I'm proud to get such high praise."</p><p>Bulma was joking with him, nothing he would echo back, but on the other hand he didn't feel offended by her joke. "Are you drawing again?" he asked instead, deciding to forge forward with what he really wanted to talk about. "You know, I wondered something, why weren't there any drawings of yourself? Someone as vain as you, I would have figured you would have quite a <em>lot</em> of yourself."</p><p>Her expression dropped, watching him with a caution that nagged at him as though he said something that upset her. Bothersome. "What?" he asked, voice surprisingly calm though another part of him wanted to yell at how weird she was being suddenly.</p><p>She shrugged, gesturing to the book—actually different from the one he had seen before. Another one? He could see black and red blurs even from his vantage point. "I've been seeing an art teacher for a long time now," she answered after a tense moment of silence. "I only usually draw just what I <em>see </em>and feel. If I drew myself I know it would just be an exaggerated and dishonest version, so I never did. She told me recently to draw myself with <em>honesty </em>as a challenge."</p><p><em>Honesty</em> implied a lot—with none of her pretentious vanity, he supposed? How she felt on the inside? But that said she felt differently than she expressed outward. It couldn't have been. How?</p><p>Bulma sighed as though accepting an inevitability even if she didn't like it. "Well, you already saw my other drawings, here." She shut the book and pushed it towards him. "I don't know why you want to see, though, this is just boring human stuff."</p><p>Technically, yes, but Vegeta <em>had</em> been very curious about why he saw no drawings of Bulma herself in the first sketchbook. With cautious hands he opened the cover to the first page.</p><p>A rough sketch of Bulma standing in front of a mirror greeted him. He could see the dog-man (Corduroy, the family tailor, if he recalled right) standing at her elbow looking like he was in the midst of chattering happily at her. He could also see that Bulma was wearing an elaborate gown bedecked with a brooch in the front—elegant and queenly, it looked, perfectly fit to her, so she must have been preparing for some gala.</p><p>But then his eyes fell on her face and he saw…he couldn't quite describe her expression. Disconcerted. Tired. Not at all like her usual looks of confidence or liveliness, Bulma looked like a great amount of thoughts were weighing her down.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em>Honesty.</em>
</p><p>Self-absorbed though he was, even Vegeta could acknowledge that Bulma as she depicted herself looked concerned, thinking about several things at once, trying to live her life normally but still…</p><p>He turned the page. Surely it wasn't all bad.</p><p>He was wrong. Black took up both of the pages with a very small Bulma in the center, eyes were in the blackness, loneliness and isolation radiated off the page, not only that but a feeling of <em>relation</em> panged painfully at his heart.</p><p>He turned the page so quickly he almost ripped it.</p><p>Wished he hadn't then. Faceless figures stood over Bulma lying facedown in a pool of her own blood. He knew what the figures were, the androids. She honestly believed that…</p><p>"That won't happen," he rasped, voice sounding strained with emotion much to his horror and shock. Somehow his concern and horror at what he had seen chilled his soul and overpowered his own desire to keep things close to his chest. "That won't happen, Bulma."</p><p>She smiled faintly at him, reaching out with delicate hands to take the book away from him, shutting it and putting it away, out of sight, out of mind, pretending he hadn't seen it and nothing distressing was there. "I know you can beat them," she responded gently. "I believe in you, Vegeta."</p><p>Bulma believed he could beat the androids yet said nothing about her believing that Vegeta could <em>save</em> her from them.</p><p>He shouldn't have wanted to adamantly voice that he <em>would</em> save her from them.</p><p>But he did.</p><p>This was dangerous, <em>again</em>, how did he keep getting into these situations with her?</p><p>"It's getting late," Bulma spoke up before Vegeta could agonize over it any longer. "You'd better get a proper meal and some rest. More training tomorrow." She grinned again, a cocky expression that was all teeth and cheer. "I'm working on upgrades for you."</p><p>Vegeta frowned, deciding he didn't like the idea for once. "I think you've done enough," he grumbled, standing up and holding out his hand to her. "Come. We're <em>both</em> getting proper food and rest tonight."</p><p>She frowned back, opening her mouth to protest, cut off by Vegeta sternly shaking his head. "No, Bulma, you've done enough today."</p><p>Bulma watched him for a long moment, blue eyes searching his face for something unreadable before trailing down to his hand, regarding it with slight suspicion. "…If I didn't know better, Vegeta, I'd think you were being a worried friend right now."</p><p>"Believe what you want, foolish woman," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I am only looking out for my own benefit, if you run yourself ragged how else are you supposed to maintain anything for me? This is your self-imposed duty, is it not?"</p><p>After a moment of a stand-off, watching each other in awkward silence, Bulma reached up, slipping her small hand into his. There wasn't that much of a difference between the size, he acknowledged, but something about how her hand fit into his still felt…</p><p>He pushed it out of his head, squeezing ever so softly and tugging her up to join him. "Come, we're going now," he said again.</p><p>She only smiled at him in return, squeezing his hand back. There was no verbal thanks, but he could see it in her eyes and his cheeks burned in embarrassment just the same.</p><p>What was he even doing? Why did he want to look out for her? Why did he feel sick at the images he had seen in her <em>other</em> sketchbook? If the first brought him feelings of…whatever, and the second brought <em>different</em> and <em>unpleasant</em> feelings of…something…what did it all mean?</p><p><em>This is a hindrance</em>, his dark thoughts whispered again. <em>This is a weakness. What are you </em>doing<em>, you fool?</em></p><p>He held onto her hand like it was the only thing tethering him, keeping him from drowning in his own thoughts, and she held on as though he was all that was keeping her safe.</p><p>"Whatever the reason you're doing it," Bulma said suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Thank you."</p><p>Vegeta could acknowledge or ignore her gratitude. He could push her away, sneer in disgust that she was mistaken and foolish. He, for some reason, did none of those things. "We'll see how grateful you feel tomorrow, woman," he snorted. "Don't expect a repeat of clemency from me if you're going to continue being imprudent."</p><p>That was what he told himself, at least.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thaaanks for reading, see y'all on the flip side!</p><p>Edit: oh yeah I almost forgot--KRILLIN'S IN DA--oh no actually a friend drew the concept of Bulma drawing based off my hc (though it's set in super era and not technically an illustration of this fic) go looooook--<br/>https://twitter.com/nonbinaryvegeta/status/1228030246013689856?s=19</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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